


philtatos

by loyaulte_me_lie



Series: there are no bargains [3]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Barricade Day, Barricade Day 2018, Cute, Established Relationship, Fluff, Homecoming, Journalist!Enjolras, M/M, Modern AU, happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 16:44:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14856449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loyaulte_me_lie/pseuds/loyaulte_me_lie
Summary: Enjolras and Grantaire share a quiet moment // fluff to make the sting of Barricade Day a little less painful <3





	philtatos

**Author's Note:**

> Basically I can't deal with the fact it's barricade day, so I wrote this thingy to make myself feel better. Perhaps it will make other fans also feel better, idk, oh well. Usual stuff about getting around to finishing other fics, I'm on a streak of reckless abandonment at the moment, sorry guys, stuff will get updated slowly! Hope you're all having a good summer/exam season!

**philtatos**

_~I'll come back/when you call me/no need to say goodbye ~_

_Regina Spektor, The Call_

*

“This one’s new.” Enjolras’ voice is thick with sleep; he traces a finger lightly over the still-healing words on Grantaire’s ribcage.

“I’m surprised you even notice new ones anymore,” Grantaire says, closing his eyes. The rain is a drumbeat on the cobblestones outside the window, pounding away the mugginess that has lingered over the city for the last week like a hangover. Enjolras’s head is pressed against his shoulder as though he could inhale Grantaire in, cell by cell. It’s comforting, to have him this close, this present, after so many months away.

 “I notice everything about you,” Enjolras tells him. “I like this one, though. Philtatos. Most beloved.”

“You.”

“Huh?”

“You’re my most beloved. I was just…reminding myself of that, when the nights got lonely.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not. You shouldn’t be. Your job is too important.” A pause. “Do you want to talk about this one or are you going to save it for Combeferre in the morning?”

Enjolras shifts, skin slides against skin, sticking in places. This man could burn the world down, Grantaire thinks idly, shifting his arm to pull Enjolras closer against his chest. “Lots of kids,” he says, eventually. “So many of them were so small, not even teenagers. I passed my information on to the police before my publisher, but still, it _hurts_ to know there are people in the world who do things like that. Every time, I think my skin is thick enough, that I can be objective and take a step back and focus on the expose, but every time it hits me how cruel humanity can be. Some of the traffickers were calling them inhuman, these _kids_ , just because of their skin colour, and it just makes me think how we use humanity as a label to define worth. You only get it if you’re valued, if you’re a Westerner or a man or a white person, and it makes me sick.”

“I hate that you go through this every time.”

“I’ve just given up believing that people will come to their senses. I can’t…R, I just…”

It’s such a privilege, Grantaire thinks, that Enjolras lets him be here for these weak moments, these flutterings of doubt and anger and fear. He runs his fingers up the knobs of Enjolras’ spine, and Enjolras makes a sound like a contented cat, pressing his face closer.

“It’s what we have the centre for,” Grantaire says. “You come home, and you work in the coffee shop, and feed the homeless, and ally for all those groups that need allies. You expose these awful things. Humans are shit, but we can’t be that fucked with people like you in the world.”

“That’s what Combeferre would say.”

“Yes, I know. There’s a reason he normally does this and not me.”

“Mmhmm.”

“He’ll say it again to you in the morning if you don’t believe me.”

“I always believe you,” Enjolras yawns.

“Well, now you do.”

“Now I do.”

“You are honestly repeating everything I say, go to sleep.”

“Okay.” There’s a rustle of bed clothes; Grantaire pulls them closer around his shoulders.

“Night, love you.”

“Love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come cry at me on tumblr: @barefoot-pianist


End file.
